Today is release day for the latest anthology to which I contributed. Here, I get to say what I never got to say to a former friend who dumped me.



If you're interested, I also contributed to this anthology, compiled by the same editor:



Ah heck, let's go for broke. I'm in this, too:



So start that holiday shopping early!

Labels: anthologies, books, cats, friendship, travel, writing

A little shameless self-promotion here ... this is a trailer for an anthology coming out October 1 in which I finally get to say something I never got to say. Other women wrote heartwarming letters to the special women in their lives, but I indulged in a final, satisfying, "fuck you" to one who did me wrong. Because that's what I needed most to say.

Labels: books, friendship, self-promotion, writing

"I just stumbled on your article 'Confessions of an Introverted Traveler' and I just wanted to tell you how pleased I was to read it. I am in my second year of college and hope to travel extensively after school. I've been scouring the internet reading countless articles, blogs, personal accounts, etc about traveling and a vast majority of them speak of the great experience of meeting people around the world. As someone who can't even strike up a conversation with the cute girl in english class or approach someone at a show, I have been plagued with anxiety for traveling overseas. Reading your article was a breath of fresh, encouraging air."

I have received a lot of emails about the column mentioned above but this one particularly touched me because it’s someone whose life could be affected by the pressures of the extroverted masses.

I told this young man that first of all, approaching cute members of the opposite sex is doctoral-level extroversion. I’m not even sure I trust guys who can easily chat up that cute girl in English class. No, that kind of confidence is suspect to me. Give me the awkward blurter any day.

But for him and any other introverts out there who are trying to decide if they should hit the road or just stay home where nobody will bother them, I thought I’d offer these five tips for traveling introverts.

Be open to conversation when it’s offered. I rarely initiate conversations but I will talk to almost anyone who talks to me first. People like talking to introverts because we tend to be good listeners, and listening is the point in travel conversations, anyway. That’s when we learn. Once the conversation is started, you can ask lots of questions and learn lots of stuff. In her book Introvert Power, Dr. Laurie Helgoe points out that introverts generally prefer deep conversation to superficial chitchat. I’m never afraid to turn conversations to worldview, personal goals, politics and other Deep Thoughts. Ask things you truly want to know. Grab conversation when it comes, make it work for you.

Don’t be shy about ending the encounter when you’re ready. A lot of times, random conversations lead to invitations to parties, to travel companions, to meet the gang. This sort of invitation can lead to raucous good times. I hate raucous good times. I rarely accept those “let’s take it to the next level” invitations. I may have missed out on a lot that way, but maybe not. The few times I have accepted have not convinced me otherwise. Drunks in bars are pretty much the same the world over. Don’t be ashamed or embarrassed to say “no” if you’re not feeling it. Then again, say “yes” sometimes, too. You never know.

Carry a book. There’s an interesting debate going in response to an article about travel books on World Hum—a couple of people contend that reading while you travel is a waste of experience, that you can read at home and you should be out LIVING and MEETING INTERESTING PEOPLE when you’re traveling. Yes, well, fine for those people. I always carry a book when I travel for when I need to create a quiet place for myself. Travel is wonderful and exhausting and over-stimulating. Sometimes I need to escape into the tranquility of reading.

Develop the art of sitting and watching. In her book, Dr. Helgoe talks about the French term “flauneur” (feminine, “flaneuse”) which means passionate observer. Yes, yes! I am a flaneuse. I love just sitting and watching people doing what they do when I travel. I do it in parks, I do it in museums, I’m finally able to do it in restaurants. That ability took a while to develop but I can now just sit alone in a restaurant and eat and watch people around me, rather than immediately burrowing into a book. Mind you, I always have a book nearby during my sitting and watching, just in case I need to escape the world for a bit or suffer a bout of self-consciousness, but it often remains unopened while I watch and eavesdrop.

Take a walking tour or, even better, hire a guide yourself. I have found this controlled interaction is a great way to get some conversation in with a local. A professional guide—you can find one through the local tourist board—is a wealth of both official and personal information about the place you’re visiting. Once again, make the interaction work for you. Ask things you want to know even if they’re not part of the official spiel.

Labels: books, introversion, introverts, psychology, travel

I’ve been thinking again about chick lit vs. lit lit since reading this Salon review of Elaine Showalter’s history of American women writers, A Jury of Her Peers. (That the book is called “monumental” in this review is, frankly, a deterrent for me to take it on. Some words just scare me off a book: monumental, lyrical, postmodern, magical realism. I’m stodgy that way. And linear. But I am interested so I might give it a shot.)

One interesting point Showalter makes, as discussed in the review, is that historically, European women writers tended to create greater works of literature because they had servants. American women writers were so busy with housework, they had less time for writing and their field of experience was proscribed by the demands of their lives. Reviewer Laura Miller writes:

The obvious subject for such women was what they knew: home life. But, as Showalter observes, "Domestic fiction has been the most controversial genre in the literary history of American women's writing, an easy target for mockery and an embarrassment to feminist critics who wish to change the canon." Margaret Fuller articulated that ambivalence when she announced that she wanted to "not write, like a woman, of love and hope and disappointment, but like a man, of the world of intellect and action"; she never managed to pull it off. … Even socially influential writers, like Harriet Beecher Stowe (teased by Abraham Lincoln for starting the Civil War), got sniffed at by the critical establishment, and it only got worse when the 20th century ushered in the cult of the he-man novelist as personified by Ernest Hemingway. (The leftist writer Meridel Le Sueur complained that an editor rejected one of her stories for lacking the requisite amount of what she called "fishin', fightin' and fuckin'.")

And that,

… many critics and editors, especially male ones, make a fetish of "ambition," by which they mean the contemporary equivalent of novels about men in boats ("Moby-Dick," "Huckleberry Finn") rather than women in houses ("House of Mirth"), and that as a result big novels by male writers get treated as major events while slender but equally accomplished books by women tend to make a smaller splash.

This is clear and obvious to me—and the review points out that critical acclaim leads to the kinds of grants and gigs that allow writers to support themselves to write, and those go primarily to men.

I’m still sorting out in my mind, though, the difference between women’s literature and chick lit and what allows traditionally told female-centric stories to transcend the chick lit label. Jane Smiley has broken out, has Anne Tyler? Annie Proulx, definitely, although I struggle with her. I read her book Postcards on a trip once and found it relentlessly bleak. I left it in an airport when I was finished (I often do that when I travel) and then felt guilty because someone else would pick it up and end up as depressed as I.

Is Nick Hornby chick lit? Was Edith Wharton chick lit in her day? As I recall from the monumental biography of her that I half read, she saw greater success than her friend and contemporary Henry James, but did she get the same critical respect? (I don’t remember off the top of my head. Anyone? She certainly has my respect. I adore her.)

And I recall a friend telling me about being told by agents and publishers that because her novel was about a teenaged girl, it could not be sold as an adult novel and needed to be recast as a young adult novel. Yet the male coming-of-age novel is a literary institution.

I’m confused.

Of course, Showalter points out that changing attitudes about domestic fiction is only one way for women writers to gain more respect. The other is for us to seize the big canvases.

Sigh. I don’t think I have the big canvas in me. (And of course you realize, this is all about me. It’s my blog.) Maybe I do. Maybe I have to get all my little stories out of me first and eventually the big story I have to tell will coalesce.

I guess I just have to live long enough and keep writing.

Labels: books, feminism, sexism, writers, writing

I’ve had a really wonderful response to my DMN column on introversion. Lots of emails, lots of gratitude. One guy said his therapist gave him a copy—perhaps the same therapist who told me she planned to distribute it to her patients.

I respond to everyone who writes to me. (Everyone who is not unhinged, that is, and fortunately most of my correspondents seem perfectly lovely.) This time, I urged everyone who wrote to check out Dr. Helgoe’s book, Introvert Power

Maybe other books on introversion are just as good, but this is the book that came my way and changed my life a little bit. Coming to understand introversion better is making a difference for me, and Dr. Helgoe offers not only insight, but also tactics for functioning.

For example, I went to a wonderful party yesterday. I’d been looking forward to it and was happy to go. But I also noticed that halfway through, I started getting that familiar “my brain might explode” feeling that says I’m on introvert overload. For me, this is almost a physical sensation, a sort of mind-ache—which is different from a headache. It’s more pressure than pain. The conversations coming at me start losing meaning and everything takes on a swirling, dizzying look—like the drug scenes in the Movie of the Week version of "Go Ask Alice."

This time, when this started happening, I knew it was simply time to excuse myself from the party crowd and find a place for a few minutes of quiet. (And here’s where smoke breaks come in handy. I started smoking again about a month ago, I am about to stop again. I will miss it.) No guilt, no shame, no self-recrimination—just step away and let my brain smooth out before plunging back into chitchat.

Not that stepping away is always easy or possible. People are very generous and if they spot someone they perceive as lonely, they will often step up and try to ease the loneliness with a little friendly conversation. Had I been able to easily leave the party for a walk around the block, that would have been the best plan, but that would have been difficult. So I grabbed a minute here and a minute there as I could. And just these few minutes helped to me enjoy—really enjoy--this party for hours before I hit the wall completely.

It’s not that I’ve never done such a thing before, but this is the first time I’ve done it consciously, with a plan and purpose. It was a surprisingly powerful moment for me.

And it brings to mind a thought on therapy that I've shared here before. People often mistakenly think that therapy will cure us, will change us profoundly so that our problems cease to exist. But in fact, what therapy does is provide us insights, tools and new maps for navigating our inner and outer worlds. I am not interested in “curing” my introversion, nor would that be possible. But learning to respect it and developing new tools to work with it, as I have other aspects of myself, will make my life three hundred percent easier.

Labels: books, introversion, introverts, memoir, personal growth, psychology

I wrote about the book Introvert Power: Why Your Inner Life Is Your Hidden Strength in this blog a while back.

I wrote about it again for this column in the Dallas Morning News and I've had a wonderful response from grateful introverts. One guy wrote that he and his wife were going to a party this weekend and planned to leave shortly after arriving. Rock on, introvert guy!

We have all been suffering in silence with our nature, taking heat from cocky extroverts. Well, enough is enough. We are going to sit quietly in our rooms and exert our power!

While I'm in shameless self-promotion mode, I recently got my copy of The Best Women's Travel Writing 2009: True Stories from Around the World (Travelers' Tales), in which I have an essay. The editor has contacted me about having some events surrounding the book here in Dallas this spring so stay tuned.

Labels: books, dallas morning news, introversion, introverts, self-promotion

I am an ex-smoker, except at parties. Then I am less a social smoker than a not-so-social smoker. I smoke at parties because I don't really like parties and cigarettes give me a socially acceptable excuse to duck outside and be quiet for a minute.

Socially acceptable, I say? Smoking?

Yep, in our extroverted society, saying you need a cigarette is more socially acceptable than saying you need to escape because you really don't think the more is the merrier and your head might explode from one more minute of tedious chit-chat,.

That's how introverts like me feel at parties.

Similarly, psychologist Laurie Helgoe, who wrote the new book Introvert Power: Why Your Inner Life Is Your Hidden Strength, says that several people she has seen in her practice who struggle with alcohol said they would not drink as much if they weren't trying to push against introversion. It's not just that alcohol is a social lubricant, says Helgoe. "It's also such a drain on self-esteem to be in this situation where you're supposed to be enjoying something but you're not."

American introverts face a lot of pressure to fight our nature. We are told not only that American is an extroverted society (not true—Helgoe has found that introverts are, in fact, the majority) but that extroversion is a better, more effective way to operate. Get out of the house! Press flesh! Stop with the email and pick up the phone, ya big loser!

But we don't really want to.

The difference between extraversion and introversion is not that the former are good at socializing and the latter aren't. It's that extroverts are outwardly focused and draw energy from social interactions while introverts are inwardly focused and drained by interactions. Introverts tend to think deeply and slowly, we prefer one-on-one interactions to big groups and conversation about ideas to gossipy chitchat. We require a lot of time alone. We don't like parties. A lot of us don't like the phone and find e-mail to be a godsend.

We don't suffer social anxiety. We just prefer solitude, given a choice.

Maybe we don't sound like much fun to extroverts. But it's time we stop succumbing to extroverted pressure to change our ways, not just because it's healthier for those of us who choose bad habits over party chit-chat, but also because if we exhaust ourselves fighting our nature, we will be too tired to contribute to the world in our very important way.

Introverts are generators of fresh ideas. Brain scans show that introverts' brains stay much busier at all times than the brains of extroverts, which is why we are easily overwhelmed by too much external stimulation. Introverts have a much greater tolerance—in fact, are drawn to—the fertile void, that quiet place where the most creative thinking happens. Famous creative-thinking introverts include Albert Einstein, Steven Spielberg, Charles Darwin, Warren Buffett, Carl Jung, Katharine Hepburn, Isaac Newton and Friedrich Nietzsche.

And our ability to be alone and think independently means we are unlikely to be swayed by social pressure or groupthink. Introverts' ideas might initially be mocked by the masses (If you sit under trees daydreaming, crap falls on your head! What's the big deal?) but these are the ideas that break through and change paradigms, once the extroverts stop laughing.

And, in a world that gets louder and more full of chatter, we particularly need fresh and unusual ideas to succeed in business—the purple cows, to use marketing guru Seth Godin's term.

"Mass marketing no longer works and that tends to be an outward, in your face, extrovert kind of approach," says Helgoe. "What Seth Godin says is that when the quality is built into the product, it sells itself. Purple cow refers to novel ideas, really cooking up something brilliant internally and then putting it out there, rather than the hit-or-miss approach. Introverts hold our cards close to our chest and we can be good at assessing where you're going to get the most bang for the buck."

So you see, fighting introversion is a waste of energy that can be put to better use. Why be an introvert? First of all, you have no choice. Second, it's a good way to be, no matter what extrovert propaganda tells you. Third, smoking is bad for you.

Labels: books, introversion, introverts, psychology

I was a huge fan of Masterpiece Theater in the 1970s and a particularly huge fan of the show’s adaptation of Thomas Hughes’ novel, Tom Brown’s Schooldays.

Of course, I was a teenaged girl and the six-part series about Rugby, an English boys’ school, was all cute boys with English accents wearing foppish clothes. And the hair! My god, you’ve never seen such marvelous haircuts, straight out of an Urban Outfitter catalog, except the faces underneath them were happy and chipper instead of haunted and morose. I wish I could show you photos, but I can find none online except this on the website of the guy in the photo—cute little Anthony Murphy who played Tom himself. Now he’s a painter in France and good one, I think.

But anyway trust me. Cute boys, good hair, cool clothes and a morality play. What’s not to like?

I loved, loved, loved the miniseries when it ran and saw it a few times. I even wrote a fan letter to Anthony Murphy. Somewhere I have the photo of him I received in return (I can’t recall if it was autographed). Back then, before VCRs, I actually taped it on a cassette audio tape as my only way of preserving the joy.

I rented the series from Netflix recently, with some trepidation. Would it be good as I remembered?

Oh joy. It was every bit as wonderful as I remembered, maybe even more so. Twinkle-eyed Tom Brown is fair, honest and mischievous. His mate Ned East is as upright and loyal a buddy as you could hope for. Poor Diggs’ plain face fair glows with goodness, even though he hasn’t two farthings to rub together. Cutherbertson—oooh, that Cuthberston—is a squirrely little weasel with a lisp and a Little Lord Fauntleroy collar. And Flashman is an all-time great dastardly sexy villain. He is so bad, especially when he roasts young Tom over the fireplace. But when he laughs his wicked laugh, he has dimples to die for.

Tom Brown’s Schooldays is the testosterone version of the Victorian book that inspired the values by which I live, A Little Princess. That story took place in a girls’ school and the torture was poverty and mocking rather than the more brutal and physical torments the boys of Rugby inflict on each other. But the themes are the same: indomitable spirit, stoicism and dignity in the face of injustice (well, Tom did become a vomiting drunk for a while after Flashman framed him, but he got better) and the triumph of good over evil. Hokey as they are, Tom Brown and especially Sara Crewe are the heroes after whom I have always tried to model myself.

And all that aside, Tom Brown’s Schooldays is a ripping yarn. With great hair.

Labels: 1970s, books, television

Instead of getting flotsam on your asses today, I’ll be deep instead. I’m a little rushed so I might be shallow in my deepness, but just because it’s on my mind…

A friend and I have been discussing love—what is it? Can it be defined? Should it be?

I’m a fan of M. Scott Peck’s iconic self-help book The Road Less Traveled in which he defines love as “The will to extend one’s self for the purpose of nurturing one’s or another’s spiritual growth.”

I always liked that, although my definition of “spiritual” may not be the same as yours. But I do believe love means helping the other person grow—in the direction he or she chooses. That’s pretty key. “Helping” your loved one grow in ways you choose is not love, it’s control. And I like that Peck’s definition of love requires some sort of action, some effort. To my mind, love without action is an empty word--even if sometimes that action means walking away. (If you love something, let it go and blah blah blah.)

My friend likes Robert Sternberg’s theory of three types of love: romantic, companionate and commitment. That also makes sense to me, and the two definitions aren’t mutually exclusive.

But she also questioned whether defining love at all is wise, since it invites judging other people’s relationships. Who are we to say whether another couple is loving or not when we don’t and can’t live in their hearts, minds or relationships? Good point—we can’t know what makes someone else’s relationship work (or not work, for that matter) and to condemn something we don’t understand is just bigotry. And stupidity.

But I would argue that there is benefit to guidelines on what love is and isn’t because a lot of people seem to get confused. Women in abusive relationships sometimes believe their menfolk are driven to abuse because of deep love. Some people confuse sexual desire for love. Some people think that love is static--that once it is declared it need not be tended. Some people think love=drama. (I thank pop culture for that, since companionate love is rarely depicted, except occasionally in country music.) That would probably be my love vice.

But I’m pretty careful with the word “love,” as I am with the word “friend.” I don’t slap it on any old attraction until I’ve thoroughly parsed it.

Tom and I love each other and, I’m sure he would agree, it’s not always easy-cheesy. It’s not just a matter of deciding it, declaring it and getting on with our lives. Sometimes love requires conflict. Sometimes it requires sacrifice. Sometimes it requires boundaries. Sometimes it requires restraint. Sometimes it requires courage. Sometimes it requires saying, “I’m sorry.” (Take that, Ali McGraw.) All of which require effort.

Labels: books, personal growth, psychology, relationships

I was working on this post when I got distracted by a Facebook invitation from someone with whom I went to summer camp, which then triggered a long nostalgic wallow. Camp Sunningdale, I loved you well.

In among the pines
There is a camp we all adore
One that we have loved
And we will love forevermore...

And so on. Sigh.

But I digress.

***

The quote below, from the Publisher's Marketplace newsletter, made me laugh.

NY Magazine's Boris Kachka on authors at the breakfasts and lunches: "Funniest guy we saw? John 'I'm a PC' Hodgman, who at a forum at 8 a.m. Sunday managed to blow every other humorist out of the water. 'I still have a fondness for books,' said the onetime literary agent. 'Many a time I will be antiquing, and I'll say, 'What's that old-timey curio over there? What is that, a candlestick telephone, one of those old pull-chain toilets? Oh no, it's a book. I used to help make those things! I will buy it and use it to decorate my chain of casual family-dining restaurants.'"

***

Coupla funnies for you here and here. I can relate to them both.

***

So I got this gizmo the other day, a Clarisonic. It was invented by the guy who invented the Sonicare toothbrush and it’s essentially the same thing, but for the face.

I love my Clarisonic. Love it. Love. It. My face has never been so clean. Did you know the average woman spends 15 second washing her face? This thing takes a minute. It’s waterproof and rechargeable and I use it with my plain old Cetaphil.

I feel like a kid whose parents gets her to brush her teeth by buying a Little Mermaid toothbrush. My new toy is more fun than washing the old fashioned way and although I always have washed my face every night, I do it more better now.

***

Bad PR du jour

Got an email today.

The subject line: Even MORE exciting NEWS for you!

The message: You are going to be WOWed to put this in your news publication!

The news: I have no idea. It’s in an attachment that I’m not going to open. Much as we could all use a little WOWing, I don’t open unsolicited attachments to keep my computer safe and also as a matter of principal. Everyone should know better. I don’t reward stupidity.

***

I just finished reading my friend Karen Harrington's book, Janeology. Karen is a wonderful writer and this book, tracing the lineage of a mother who murders one of her children, raises compelling questions about nature vs. nurture. Was her act inevitable?

Check out Karen's blog. Wish I'd entered her 10-word story contest, but I was too busy writing haiku comments on Jenna's blog. It's a wonder I have time to spend a whole minute washing my face...

***

I posted a new DVD review on Suit up and Show Up. Show it some love, give it a click. I haven't been doing new DVDs recently because I am giving it all to Tamilee. Hurts so good.

***

I've had an exceedingly social couple of weeks. I look forward to holing up at home with my sewing this weekend. Except for a couple of parties tomorrow night. Would somebody please suggest some cocktail chatter for me? I'm plum out...

Labels: books, cartoons, exercise, public relations

Aside from imparting the shocking news that the Oxford English Dictionary is going online only, this article (thanks again, MsKrit) is delightfully written. No nits to pick here.

Labels: books, news, newspapers, wordplay, words, writing

You learn something new every day (if you’re lucky). I had no idea there was a Texas-shaped swimming pool in Plano. How delicious is that? If I lived closer, I’d join. Keep the pool alive, Planites. Join today.

On my one trip to Branson, MO many years ago, I stayed at the Music Country Motor Inn because it had a guitar-shaped swimming pool. Too bad the postcard doesn’t do the pool justice.


I don’t remember the room. I do remember seeing Mel Tillis and Shoji Tabuchi. Just what is the Shoji Tabuchi Show that everyone loving American music is raving about? his website asks. A Japanese fiddler. Yes indeedy.

***

According to this article, when the economy struggles, lipstick sales soar. Interesting. I wonder if then, these women promptly lose said lipsticks, as I do. Yes, the problem continues. Where do they go?

What do you give up when money gets tight? For one thing, Jack isn’t getting shmancy organic biscuits these days. When we have money, I order them online from a small company because with these biscuits, his breath stays sweet. These days, he’s eating semi-fancy Petco biscuits and his breath can knock you over from across the room. We also stop shopping at Whole Foods. Tom Thumb is good enough. We’re cutting back on our meat consumption a bit, too. Which is good for us in many various ways.

I have definitely started watching my driving. The other day I met friends for lunch in Plano, which is a haul for me. Driving home, I realized that gas added about another $12 to the cheap lunch. I watched that gauge as obsessively as I watch taxi meters in New York. (Although that’s less about the price of the ride than the performance pressure of calculating the tip. I calculate and recalculate the tip every time the meter flips.)

What else? I go the library more. I don’t buy many new books but when money is tight, I buy even fewer. I’m somewhat less likely to order wine when I eat out. (Somewhat. Depends on the day of the week.)

The one thing I still can’t bring myself to give up, though, is having someone clean my house every two weeks. It’s a luxury I can no longer live without. Life is short, my house gets really dirty.

***

Ms. Krit sent that lipstick article, and she sent me this article, about how to buy a dictionary.

Her favorite part and mine:

Look for dirty words.

All parts of English are important, even those trouble-making words that are coarse, derogatory, or sexual. A good lexicographer will include the most common words of all kinds, including ones that can be troublesome.

If a dictionary’s editors have chosen to leave out words they consider offensive, we must also wonder what other words they have left out. What are their criteria for judging words to be offensive? Are they leaving out words that concern any religion but their own? Are they leaving out words that deal with political viewpoints they don’t support? Are they leaving out words simply because they think they’re ugly? Are they including words simply because they like them? Are they deleting insulting words for their own ethnic group and leaving in insulting words for other groups?

See? Profanity does have a noble purpose? Fuckin’ A!

***

My favorite New Yorker cartoon of the week, right here.

***

Some Mother’s Day snark for the unsentimental.

Is this the scariest ad EVER? It’s the attack of the mom clones. Not to mention the scary clothes. The outfit on Mom #1 is clearly designed for the mom you hate. Stacey and Clinton, please help.

Here, from my favorite ecard site, is a collection of Mother’s Day cards you would never dare send, much as you might want to.

I’ve seen articles that say people are going to spend more on their mothers this year, and articles that say they are going to spend less. Predictably, mothers say, “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll sit in the dark.”

This just in: Mother's Day press release with infuriating unnecessary apostrophes: Wanted to pass along this last minute gift idea for those active mom's or for those mom's that always have sore, tired feet. Please let me know if you would like more information or need any images or product samples.

To add to the idiocy, the message text gives no clue as to what the product is. I would have to open an attachment for any more information. Not gonna do it, Matt. If for no other reason than because you're an idiot. What would your mother think?

Don’t know what to get mom? Perhaps this:



***

And finally, searches of the week.

My portrait of a xoloescuintle was very popular on Thursday. Maybe someone was passing it around? It was accessed a number of times. Also, from the same page, the photo of the pyramids and my arty farty flower shot.

I was disturbed by the search

i hate ps 166

How could anyone hate PS 166, my beloved alma mater? Now, if they knew Ethel O. Ebin, the principal when I was there, I could understand hating her, nasty old bat. I wish I had a photo of her. She had a grubby beehive hairdo that looked like it housed rodents.

Other searches this week:

Thank God I books for sale Castagnini
inside the brain of a narcissist
Narcissist Bully
negative reviews of elizabeth gilbert's eat, pray, love
gmail emails not reaching their destination
derivation of lithium name
cashmere bouquet plant
customer support gmail
outlook autofill subject line
mayeaux pronunciation
odd looking dogs
give me obama email adress and guest 2008@yahoo.com
jack kent cooke Conundrum
gmail to yahoo not getting sent
sophia needlepoint
jean fain
46/64 baby boomers magazine dallas morning news
CAROLINE HELDMAN self objectification
2008 guess book of jane in the usa @yahoo.com @gmail.com
"black and blue" dallas
intriguing
fun shit in dallas texas
"Advanced Backup Plug-In"
Menade du: "Advanced Backup PlugIn"
picture of someone eating a twinkie
knyledge Sutton
2008 email contact of directors in bangkok @gmail.com
smacking upside the head emoticon
rooting cashmere bouquet
+27+2008+2009 @yahoo.com OR @yahoo.com OR mail.com "director"
ooed and ahed
pronounce loehmann's
"an open mind" book markova
55L alpine pack = too big??
beautiful aunties with saris


That is all. Happy Friday.

Labels: advertising, blogging, books, branson, cosmetics, dillard's, economy, flotsam, google, mother's day, news, photography, public relations, shopping, texas, words

Check out this video (sound optional but interesting.) It’s Dallas teens doing a new sport called Parkour. I was never so fearless but I like to watch.

***

According to this article, the whole emoticons ‘n’ acronyms writing style is creeping into teenagers’ schoolwork.

The idea of emoticons in a term paper makes my eyes roll, and I’m not even
anti-emoticon, as is fashionable among smart people. Wiseguys like me sometimes need to flag our wiseguyitude. I don’t emoticon often but I use them when it seems prudent.

However, the statement that really struck me in the article was from Richard Sterling, a Berkeley prof and emeritus executive director of the National Writing Project. He predicts that eventually, the convention of starting sentences with a capital letter will disappear.

Hm, I’m not liking that idea. I’m not a language purist. I think the evolution of language is fun and exciting. But I also think that what we write should be easy to read and that includes graphically. The capitalized first letter is an important cue—at least as important as the period and the properly placed comma. I like capitalizations, paragraph breaks, commas and clarity of communication.

Unlike this sentence, which I pulled from the Fair Shares for All: A Memoir of Family and Food, which I’m trying to finish but have stalled out on:

"...Dad's minaciously short-winded frame had just been rushed to Oldchurch Hospital, the rack-rent lazaretto where I had reflexively frowned when a scalpel's intrusion spelled spasms of flashlight and seizures of bawling where once in umblical darkness I'd dozed to the clockwork berceuse of Mum's heart..."

I think it means the author's father was taken to the same hospital where the author was born by Cesarean section.

I have a decent vocabulary but in that statement alone are four words requiring a dictionary (minaciously, rack-rent, lazaretto, berceuse). One or two words, OK. I blame myself. Four? That's too many obscure words in one convoluted description. It's reader unfriendly.

The whole book is like that. MEGO. That the book was written by a national magazine copy chief makes the rococo writing all the more puzzling. A copy editor's job is to help make writing clearer.

On a related subject: Call me unsophisticated but nothing turns me off a book more than hearing it described as "lyrical." Possibly the only lyrical book I've ever really enjoyed was Bel Canto, which I loved. So nice I read it twice.

***

Fickle, fickle media (heh heh heh).

***

The Google searches that brought people to my blog got better and better as the week passed.

newspapers:watergate scandal

for sale xoloescuintle

sophie Razzle magazine

"eating is boring"

+2 Bangkok contact email address of doctors of Bangkok "email directory update" OR 2008 OR 2009 "@yahoo.com" –indians

I-35 between dallas and austin fun stops

i can make you thin but jean fain

eagle creek subcontinent pack

2008 @yahoo.com @gmail.com florida company doctors

%2

***

Maybe later I’ll come up with more flotsam for our Friday. Maybe not.

Labels: barak obama, blogging, books, google, hillary clinton, parkour, presidential election, sports, writing

Just a soupcon of flotsam today…

This is NOT FUNNY.

Everybody cast your votes! (Thanks, Mary. And no, it has nothing to do with Hillary/Obama. We're all exhausted ...)

Have you finished your Passover gift shopping yet? If not, MsKrit alerts us to these very special items.

Today’s newspaper was chock full of dreary, terrifying news about the economy and believe me, we’re feeling it. How are we going to pay for the electric fence we are having installed at this very moment? We have no idea. Things are a little tense around the house this morning and Jack doesn’t even know yet how his world is about to rocked. All he knows is that there are strange men in the backyard and he’s stuck in the house.

But I digress. I mention the newspaper mostly to show you this photo, the most entertaining thing in today’s paper. What’s the deal with the hoochie mama topiaries? Dallas is SO conflicted about sex….

And finally, huzzah! Not only is Dr. Phil finally, really tumbling from grace, but this MSN reaming actually mentions our book! Now, everybody run out and buy a copy!

OK, let’s get out there an EARN SOME MONEY! Jack-y needs a new pair of shoes. (Or something. He always needs something. A bath, for example.)

Labels: blogging, books, dogs, dr. phil, humor, passover, writing

Here’s a WSJ interview with Jennifer Weiner about her book Certain Girls, in which she addresses Jane Smiley’s review, which I linked to earlier this week.

Weiner says, in part: “What shocked me was that she said I have to stop writing about nice Jewish characters. [In her review, Ms. Smiley wrote that Ms. Weiner "seems boxed in by her chosen genre" and should "address larger questions than the psychological ups and downs of her nice Jewish characters."]

I couldn't believe that made it past the copy desk. The idea you can tell a writer of a specific religion to stop writing about that religion is presumptuous. When an older writer tries to tell a younger writer through a review what kind of career she should be pursuing, it tends to speak to the reviewer's anxieties rather than the book itself…”

I didn’t interpret Smiley’s review as dissing anyone’s religion as much as suggesting Weiner look farther afield for her characters. Big difference. On the other hand, Smiley has written about horses and academia, which is the stuff of her life, so she should talk.

Speaking of chick stuff, Mary and I rented Private Benjamin last night and I am pleased and relieved to report that it held up. Sure, the fashions are 1980s as is some of the humor, but it’s still clever and thoughtful and fun. The cast includes Goldie Hawn, a few minutes of Albert Brooks, Eileen Brennan, Mary Kay Place, Armand Assante, Sam Wanamaker, Harry Dean Stanton…not too shabby. I love it.

More girltalk: A very kind blog reader sent me a link and asked my opinion of this article from The Atlantic, titled Marry Him!--the Case for Mr. Good Enough. It is an interesting argument for women to stop being so picky about their men and "settle" for someone who might be too short or too bald or too something or not something enough. I wasn't sure what to think of it--I had a knee-jerk negative reaction--and hemmed and hawed, but the woman who sent it managed to sum it up in one very neat sentence: I think what she says is to settle, I say is maturity. Yes, yes. Of course. That's exactly what I meant to say.

Deelish for Dallasites: The city elders plan to rename Industrial Boulevard to reflect the glamorous (very distant) future they plan for it. For you outtatowners, Industrial Boulevard is pretty much what it sounds like—a gritty stretch of auto businesses, titty bars, the county jail, bail bondsmen and, as happens to any area that abuts a dry district (that is, areas with no alcohol sales), a whole lot of liquor stores. (Read about it here.)

Among the names being floated:
Big D Boulevard (gak)
Dallas Delta (makes it sound romantic, don’t it?)
Kirk Parkway (presumably after former Mayor Ron Kirk)
Rio Vista (and what a vista the Trinity River offers!)
Stanley Marcus Boulevard (I’d rather see them name the planned Calatrava Bridge for him)
The Promenade (how grand!)

I say call it Beer Run Boulevard.

Speaking of Eileen Brennan, Tom and I watched most of the movie FM the other night. It was mildly entertaining--the hairdos alone gave us something to talk about--but we wondered which came first, FM or WKRP in Cincinatti? Anyone?

Finally, because my workout DVD shelf runneth over, and because reviewing DVDs helps keep me fit, I have decided to launch a second blog dedicated to reviews, called Suit Up and Show Up. I’ve posted a few old reviews and one new one up already and will keep up as best I can. Please check in from time to time if you’re interested, I’ve added it to my blogroll to the right.

Labels: books, dallas, exercise, fitness, fitness dvds, movies, news, writing

I’m having an intermittent problem with my e-mails not hitting their destinations. And you know what intermittent means—tech support will not believe me because the tests I sent to “Jason” arrived, of course. He said things like, “Sometimes when you type the wrong e-mail address…” C’mon, Jason. Don’t you think I checked that? If I coulda reached through the phone line and throttled him…

So what do I do now other than slump at my desk?

Anyway, if you’re wondering why I didn’t respond to your e-mail, I probably did.

This is an exciting weekend in Duncanville, where the second-annual Texas Open Bonspiel will take place. And you know what that means, don’t you? Yes indeed, the Duncanville will be all abuzz with curlers from across the country! (Read all about it here.) Perhaps I can persuade a couple to come sweep my kitchen floor. Talk about flotsam--Jack tracks in all kinds of mess on his giant feet that we're not allowed to touch.

Got an email with this subject line the other day: Save 15% on Col-Pure at The Collagen Store Grand Opening!

The Collagen Store?

Cartoon du jour.

So, evidently and not surprisingly, the same newspaper decline that’s occurring here is also happening in France. But those French journalists are not gonna take it sitting down. They’re striking! Yeah, like that’s gonna help…

Here’s a new book concept that I find totally bizarre and yet bizarrely compelling:

THANK GOD I
Most controversial book ever launches later next week

New York City, NY “Rape, Cancer, Death, and Divorce. Can you imagine being grateful for any of these things? Finally a book that transforms the human experience according to creator of the Thank God I series”, John Castagnini.

“Thank God I, soon to be the largest inspirational book series since Chicken Soup for the Soul, unites a world-wide community of individuals to share personal stories of gratitude for their past adversities. Thousands of writers will reveal gut-wrenching accounts of how they transformed perceived crisis into blessings” added Castagnini.

Labels: books, cartoons, computers, flotsam, humor, newspapers, tech support

Chick flicks and chick lit are under discussion these days. In a review by Jane Smiley of Jennifer Weiner’s Certain Girls, Smiley bemoans the pinkness of the cover, which relegates the book to the girl ghetto. Actually, she laments Weiner’s evident decision to aim for the chick lit shelves.

Smiley writes:

In her latest novel, she seems boxed in by her chosen genre, and it's a shame, because she's got the intelligence and the ambition to address larger questions than the psychological ups and downs of her nice Jewish characters. For whatever reason, though, she doesn't dare.

Meanwhile, Hollywood is trying to figure out what the Next Big Thing in chick flicks will be, now that Meg Ryan is getting long in the tooth. (OK, Hollywood didn’t say that, I did. But to me, Meg Ryan epitomizes the last round of chick flicks. She’s just so cute and inoffensive.)

My first question: Why is chick lit considered a ghetto while guy lit is considered the real deal? Why should the psychological ups and downs of Martin Amis’ characters be more respected than Weiner’s?

For that matter, why wasn’t Wally Lamb’s massive bestseller, She’s Come Undone given a pink cover? I wonder if Henry James was considered chick lit in his day, since his stories are all about intimate relationships? What about Jane Austen? Is Anne Tyler chick lit?

I have similar questions about chick flicks. I love the entire Bette Davis canon—are those chick flicks? What about Gone With the Wind? (Movie and book, actually.) If a book or movie has staying power, does that move it out of the ghetto into the good neighborhood?

I guess what is considered hardcore chick lit today is written to a formula that includes lots of shopping, brand name-dropping, cocktails and looooove. And chick flicks basically are boy+girl= happily ever after, eventually. Unless they’re a about somebody dying. (Beaches—which I’ve seen and didn’t care about.)

I don’t read a ton of hardcore chick lit, but I read The Devil Wears Prada and was surprised by how well-written it was. I also enjoyed the movie. Then I read Lauren Weisberger’s second book, Everyone Worth Knowing, and found it to be the exact same story, different career (public relations). Tedious. I read Bridget Jones’ Diary and enjoyed that and the movie, but decided not to read the follow-up for fear it would suck. (I rarely see movie sequels either, for the same reason.)

I am a sucker for a few recent-ish all-out chick flicks. Although I usually find Julia Roberts irritating, I do have a soft spot for Notting Hill. (I suspect my aversion to Julia Roberts has something to do with my loathing for her breakthrough movie, Pretty Woman. No, don’t get me started.) I catch Legally Blonde on TV whenever I come across it. I love the fact that Elle gets the degree and, only incidentally, the good guy.

Most of my favorite chick flicks are moldy olides, though. An Officer and a Gentleman got me through some hard times when I first moved to Texas and things weren’t going well. I saw it several times in one week because I needed escapism so badly. I love Private Benjamin, with Goldie Hawn, in which she is widowed on her wedding night and joins the army. The ending tickles me every time I see it (and it’s been a while—I might have to find it for fun). I also like Rich and Famous, with Candice Bergen and Jacqueline Bisset, which follows a friendship over decades.

I suppose my favorite chick lit and flicks involve women going for something other than the guy. You know, finding a guy is great, but that’s not all there is to us.

Labels: books, feminism, movies, writing

Everywhere I saw Americans, I saw at least one American woman clutching the book Eat, Pray, Love. Catherine brought a copy that a friend had pressed on her and we both dutifully read it. (I tried not to let anyone see me.)

Neither of us were knocked out by the book although Catherine said she wouldn’t mind having a cup of coffee with Elizabeth Gilbert. Not me. I found her irritating. A good writer and thinker, but really annoying. As Rolf Potts says in this right-on, right-on rebuttal to the book on Worldhum: You’ve come to admire this woman—and you wish the best for her—but you wish she’d stop yapping about emotional minutiae so you could both look out and enjoy the scenery from time to time.)

Labels: books, eat pray love, travel